


Eternal Flame

by straylize



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), i'm ngl i just wanted to write about their brave units, sometimes canon is good actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: Reuniting in Askr wasn't what either Claude or Dimitri had planned once the war ended. All the same, they couldn't have planned for lingering feelings, unspoken sentiments, and regrets that couldn't otherwise be addressed. On a quiet night, beneath a roaring fire, they put aside their duty as Heroes in order to resolve their burning, unanswered questions.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Eternal Flame

The sound of the dimming campfire crackling and crickets chirping fill the silence that hangs in the air. The hour is late, and nearly all who had been recruited for this particular mission have already retired to their tents for the night. Even Kiran, who takes to looking after all the Heroes that’ve been summoned, has retreated to the tent he shares with Alfonse. All that remain are two—Dimitri and Claude, both of whom had agreed to take the late night lookout shift. They sit in silence, the mutual tension that exists between them mounting. Neither is surprised by said tension—but all the same, neither seem quite prepared to address it.

It had been easy upon their arrival to Askr to brush the details aside—how it was possible for them to both be there, the men they’d grown to become and the thrones they had both ascended. It was curious, it was confusing—and even a bit painful in some respects—but they’d had other priorities to attend to that made it far easier to sweep under the rug. But here and now, with weeks having passed and very little reason to avoid each other—or the topic—they’re faced with silence as they seek the best way to approach it. What remains unsaid is how they volunteered themselves to be the night watch to have time to address it without anyone else’s perked ears.

That’s easier said than done, though.

Silence weighs heavy in the air, neither of them sure of how to breach the topic. Dimitri’s gaze idly watches cinders rising up from the fire, lips curved in a deep frown. He wants to know, of course—just what happened in the world where Claude prevailed. He’s been able to glean that there were as many similarities as differences in their memories. Many of the same events occurred, both in their school days and beyond, but with differing circumstances, and naturally, outcomes. He is aware that the life Claude led was one where Byleth had been the teacher for the Golden Deer House, and that Claude had been the one to find her on the promised day. Dimitri also knows that whatever may have happened in the war, Claude had prevailed, while he and Edelgard surely perished. It’s only natural for him to want to know more of his own fate, however perilous it may have been. And more importantly than that: there’s something else, something between him and Claude alone that he isn’t sure he can even ask—something he’s not even sure  _ how _ to ask.

Claude’s own gaze shifts between the stars twinkling in the night sky above and Dimitri, sitting opposite him. The flames of the campfire reflect in his eyes, and Claude finds himself still in muted disbelief about it all. Dimitri is here; Dimitri is  _ alive. _ There’s a world, a place in time where he didn’t have to suffer a gruesome, lonely death on Gronder’s vast and soiled battlefield. There was a world in which he could ascend the throne and be what Fódlan needed—and really, what Claude would have liked to see him become. He isn’t all too surprised that the version of himself in that world yet lives; upon their meeting, Dimitri had seemed far more surprised to learn that Claude was Almyra’s king, rather than being alive at all. Yet still, it begs the question of what prompted  _ that _ Claude’s retreat, among a host of other things that race through Claude’s ever-busy mind. If there’s one thing Claude is sure of, though, it’s that he’ll never find out if he doesn’t ask.

“Claude—”

“Anyhow,” 

It seems they both have the very same idea, speaking in unison to break the silence. That heaviness gives way to faintly awkward chuckles that break the tension, but certainly not the awkwardness. Claude shakes his head, urging Dimitri on. “Go ahead.”

“My apologies,” Dimitri offers, head bowing slightly. “I have to admit, it’s a bit of a difficult topic to broach.”

Surprisingly so, in fact. Dimitri has been thinking about this for more than just weeks—it’s been  _ months _ since they were summoned to this world, and yet it feels as if he’s no closer to understanding, to  _ knowing _ what Claude experienced, what he remembers—and what it could mean. With Edelgard, they’d quickly been able to discern what happened to the other and were content to leave things be. Their relationship is still contentious at best and they don’t often fight side-by-side, an arrangement that seems to work well enough for their purposes in Askr. It feels different with Claude, quietly tense, but with no malice or bitterness to say the least. He supposes… that if they have shared memories from before the war, that perhaps that could explain some of what he’s thinking. But even with Claude being much warmer and more open than Dimitri remembers from those days, there’s a sense of distance he hasn’t been able to parse..

While he’d like to say that he simply wants to make sure he and Claude can retain a synergy in battle that this distance interrupts, thanks to how often they fight together—it isn’t the truth. On the battlefield, all of those thoughts always seem to fall away; they work together well and complement each other in a way that drives precisely why they are so often on the same missions throughout Askr. It’s something that comes so naturally that there doesn’t seem to be any avoiding it—and that serves to make these quiet moments  _ off _ the battlefield even more unsettling.

Yet still, even with that awkward tension hanging in the air, Claude waves off the apology. He smiles, head dipping so that his gaze falls to the center of the still-brightly burning fire. “I can’t say I’ve made it any easier. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of questions—we both do. But I’m pretty amenable to answering them, as long as you’re aware that you may not like everything you’re going to hear.”

“I’m well aware,” He responds with a quiet breath. Dimitri is certainly  _ aware _ , but how  _ prepared _ he is may still be another matter entirely. Regardless, he knows he’ll never learn the truth and clear the air between them if he doesn’t face it head-on. “I’d rather not run from this, though. From what happened to me, as you remember it.”

He truly doesn’t want to run from it—for his own sake, as well as Claude’s. Dimitri had resolved to atone for his sins by righting the many wrongs of his past—and in some ways, he knows he owes it to Claude directly to do just that. He’s not sure if he’ll have another chance to do so when they return to their respective iterations of the world, and even if he does—that Claude and  _ this _ Claude are clearly different in some ways. That’s been apparent to him for quite a while now; the Claude he last saw in Derdriu during the war was certainly not crowned king of Almyra, and had the same bright, clever expression he always seemed to wear so well. He was more honest with his feelings, to be certain, but Dimitri had been able to sense that he’d still been holding back quite a bit.

The Claude before him—well, he certainly took on that very same facade when around the others. He’s sharp and cunning, but also deeply caring and does all he can to help everyone around him. Even if he’s a bit mischievous at times, there’s an underlying sense of openness that Dimitri’s memories seem to lack. Open about his heritage and his intentions, and what he wants for Fódlan and Almyra alike—things Dimitri never imagined him being so forthcoming with. It isn’t just that, however. There’s something more there, something Dimitri only sees when Claude looks at  _ him. _ It’s muted, how his expression shifts and contorts so faintly, with melancholy reflected in his eyes. Dimitri can only assume the worst, and perhaps that’s with good reason.

But even if some of what he suspects is true, it raises other questions. That’s why he needs to ask these things, and it’s why he trusts in the notion that Claude will give him honest answers. Even though Dimitri’s memory of him often involved evasive answers when things started getting too personal—he believes in returning the same trust that was shown to him.

“All right,” Claude can still feel the faintest hesitance at sharing what he knows. Even after saying that he’s amenable to it, there’s a discomfort that weighs on his chest, threatening to suffocate him. Claude knows though, that he needs to keep his word—and that they won’t clear the tension in the air until they’ve resolved this. It’s not any fault of Dimitri’s; Claude just doesn’t want to revisit the memories he was hoping to bury once the war had come to an end. 

Which had been working somewhat well until being summoned to Askr. Now those memories constantly replay, and he’s been doing all he can to keep old feelings at bay.

“The Battle of Gronder. That was the first time I’d seen you since the war started. It… was also the last,” Claude’s voice lowers as he speaks, and it becomes plainly obvious to Dimitri that Claude is forcing himself to be forthcoming with the truth here and now.

That in itself makes Claude’s words feel that much more painful. There’s a pang of guilt, for forcing Claude to speak, and then a sinking feeling that follows because of how clear the implications are. He looks to Claude for a moment with faint disbelief before his gaze shifts away. “I… I see.”

Dimitri doesn’t think he should ask more. The heavy sense of  _ loss _ fills every one of his senses, and he knows without a doubt that Claude was surprised to see him in Askr because in Fódlan, in Claude’s Fódlan—that was no longer possible. It fills Dimitri’s mind with more questions. How did he die? Did Claude take his life? Edelgard? Did Dimitri himself, in blind fury, try to kill either of them and was met with his own end? It would be selfish and cruel to ask Claude anything else. He has no way of being sure what sort of relationship they shared, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair to keep pressing Claude for further details.

Not when he can see honest lamentations in Claude’s expression.

“Thank you for telling me, Claude,” He says, after a long, contemplative silence. What else can he say? He appreciates having that question answered for him, but he can’t bring himself to ask more. Instead, he moves to stand, finding himself a bit too eager to put some distance between them. “Perhaps it’s due time for me to start the evening’s first patrols.”

“A little cruel to run away before answering any of my questions, don’t you think?” Claude responds with a mirthless laugh. He won’t answer the questions Dimitri doesn’t ask unbidden—but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let Dimitri bail on him even a second too soon. Though that, he knows beneath it all, is solely because of the feelings he’s been wanting to keep buried.

The way Claude speaks those words, though,. feels like a knife twisting in Dimitri’s heart, as if to tell him he will only further Claude faintly masked melancholy if he leaves straight away. “...You’re right. It would be remiss of me to do so, when there are things you wish to know. Go on—I’ll answer whatever questions you wish to ask.”

“The same as what you wanted to know, I suppose. What happened to me—what you recall of it.” Claude is sure he isn’t dead, or at least he wants to believe that to be the case. He takes cues from the way Dimitri spoke of things in the past—yet still, that could be wishful thinking. 

Dimitri predicted as much, and it’s not as if he could fault Claude for wanting to know—it seems they both wanted to know the very same, after all. For his part, it’s far easier to share the honest truth, with the sort of detail he’d expect Claude to be interested in knowing.

“I last saw you in Derdriu. You placed your faith in us, sending a request for aid before we had reclaimed Fhirdiad—with the belief that we would not only do so, but that we’d be willing to come to your aid,” He pauses for a brief moment, but realizing how bleak that may sound, Dimitri quickly collects himself and continues. “We barely got there in the nick of time, but we were able to assist you in fending off the attack. When the battle was over… you entrusted the Alliance to me, as well as Failnaught, before departing from Fódlan. I can only presume  _ now _ that you’re in Almyra, though I cannot be certain, as I’ve not heard anything since.”

It makes sense, now that he knows of Claude’s heritage and his ties to the Almyran throne—but he had given no indication of that after that battle in Derdriu. Dimitri dips his head slightly before repeating the last thing Claude had said to him on that day.  _ I don't know how many years will pass until then, but let's promise to meet again. _ ” 

“That… definitely sounds like me.” Claude would know best, after all. It would be a lie to say that hadn’t, at one time, been a part of his contingency plans if things went awry for him. If Dimitri had lived, he would have entrusted the Alliance to him. If he’d lost to Edelgard, he’d arranged for the other leaders to follow her rule. But what Dimitri tells him also signals something of great importance to him: that the version of him there—in that world where Dimitri rules over Fódlan—had the deep sense of trust to leave Failnaught in his hands, and with the full belief that the Relic would be safer that way. Claude knows as well, after all, that there is no value in Fódlan’s legendary and most questionable weaponry on the other side of Fódlan’s Throat. 

Silence falls between them for yet another moment as Claude considers all of Dimitri’s words; in his mind, he’s assessing what that other him was thinking, what he was feeling when he left Fódlan the way he did. He runs the scenarios in his head at a feverish pace before he lifts his head, looking to meet his gaze with Dimitri’s. When he speaks, he’s quiet—almost subdued, as if holding something back. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

Dimitri’s eye widens in surprise at the sudden question, and for two reasons. The first is that Claude has never really been the sort to earnestly ask favors of anyone. He’s always been a fiercely independent sort, and when he needed assistance, it always appeared to be more of an inclusive effort. When he’d asked for aid in Derdriu, it had been not only to protect himself, but the Leicester Alliance, as well as the close comrades defending their capital. Claude had been backed into a corner, but Hilda, Judith and Lysithea had still been at the front lines. It was never a favor for  _ Claude _ , but a favor for the greater good. 

That leads directly into the second reason—Claude tone. His expression. It isn’t simply just that of lamentation. It twists in his chest like a knife, the sound and sight all too familiar to his ears and eyes alike. It isn’t just lamentation, after all—it’s  _ heartache. _ Dimitri may not know what that favor may be, exactly, yet still, everything about it signals to him that this situation is somehow even more painful than Claude is trying to let on to. For someone that had always been so good at masking his true feelings, Dimitri sees him as being so painfully honest right now… and in turn, it makes his own heart ache. How did  _ Claude _ , of all people, end up in a situation where he’s asking Dimitri for favors with muted desperation?

“Claude… Before I agree to any favors, there’s something else I’d like you to do for me,” Dimitri quietly requests. The truth of the matter is that he will do that favor regardless, but there’s so much still left unspoken—Dimitri wants to clear the air about a few things first. “Will you answer a few more questions of mine first?”

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to ask—or if you were really going to be content to leave it at just that,” Claude’s words are cheeky, almost expected—though his tone still yet doesn’t quite match that. The faint hints of trepidation still rest in faint notes that Dimitri feels pricking at his own heart.

“It’s… a difficult topic, to say the least,” Dimitri replies, stifling a quiet sigh. He can’t deny that it doesn’t feel great to hear of his own death—but what makes it more difficult than that is truly the fact that Claude seems to have his own reservations about it. Perhaps that’s to be expected for someone who always held his feelings and many truths close to the vest… however, this time feels undeniably different, when compared to that of his memories. “I didn’t want to pry, given your obvious reluctance to speak further on the matter.”

For a brief moment, a wince flashes onto Claude features and easily signals to Dimitri that he hit the mark. Perhaps he does indeed know Claude better than he realized.

“ _ Really _ not pulling any punches this time, huh? Well, I suppose when you can get to the heart of the matter that easily, it’s no wonder you could take Fódlan’s reins so effectively in your own world,” Claude huffs out a mirthless laugh—he’s denying himself how even when being called out, Dimitri can be so thoughtful and charming, but all the same… it means he can no longer run from the matter, no matter what sort of evasive tactics he tries to deploy. “Go ahead, ask away.”

Somehow, it doesn’t inspire much confidence, but Dimitri holds tight to his belief in Claude. “Please… tell me of what happened during that battle. Your recollection and mine appear to be very different.”

Claude nods, looking Dimitri directly in the eye for only a brief moment before averting his gaze. That eye, it’s glacier blue, seems to pierce right through his defenses. Any longer, and he may start to wonder what may have been—had the story he is about to tell not been the one that came to pass.

“You… pretty much had a one-track mind for taking Edelgard down. I… might have gotten right in the middle of that to try and stop you. Or at least slow you down. But you had nothing but rage and contempt in your gaze. I think if I’d fought too hard, you may have actually tried to kill me instead of just clipping my wings a little,” Claude lets out another laugh, mirthless. It’s as if he’s trying to inject humor where it doesn’t belong.

Dimitri remembers that all the same, too. He was lit with fury, and the fact that someone he’d once considered dear to his heart was standing in his way—in the way of what he thought at the time was the only goal he needed to accomplish—that had been Claude’s arrow to his heart. Perhaps it was all figurative, when he remembers every move made on that battlefield had been with the intent of subduing him rather than killing him.

“You didn’t use deadly force, though with your strength? You probably could’ve taken me out in a single blow,” Claude says, but Dimitri knows that much like his own memories, killing Claude was never a thought in his mind. He simply wanted Claude to get out of his way. To not stand between him and his prey. Claude was stubborn though, and Dimitri had to force his retreat by injuring him just enough to not be able to keep giving chase; it gave Dimitri the ability to pursue Edelgard without causing Claude further harm.. He elects to say nothing of it yet though, letting Claude continue on. “I barely managed to get the jump on you, just enough so you’d fall back. After that…”

Claude falls silent for just a moment. His expression darkens before letting his eyes flutter closed, as if purposely trying to ensure that Dimitri can’t make out whatever honesty will show in his gaze. “After you retreated, we managed to drive Edelgard and her army back, too. We withdrew once it was safe—but I guess you decided to give chase when she retreated. Hilda… Hilda’s the one who saw you. Surrounded. By Imperial troops. I… didn’t see you again after that.”

He tried—at the very least, he wanted to make sure Dimitri’s body hadn’t been left to rot on the battlefield. It was all for naught, though; by the time he got to where Hilda had last seen him, his body was gone. It was hard to know what exactly happened at the time… though Claude now knows it was Dedue who laid his liege’s body to rest.

With not much else to say on that topic, the silence once again weighs heavily in the air. Perhaps Claude had been right to not want to share that information—even if he’d been able to understand what happened, learning the details is still difficult for Dimitri to reconcile. How could it be anything but, when the words he hears betray his memories in so many ways? He knows, of course, that Claude isn’t lying. It’s plainly obvious.

Claude had never really been much of a liar, after all. Though he was often evasive and used omissions liberally to avoid details—his home country, his heritage and lineage, his upbringing—and though he could be misleading with his schemes, he rarely ever lied. Especially not when it was most important. Dimitri has long known that. There’s a reason why he placed his trust in Claude for an honest response, and he certainly delivered on it. What Dimitri isn’t sure of, however, is whether or not the way that story turns his stomach is because of the discrepancy in his memories… or the thick tone of regret that lined Claude’s tone. If it’s because nobody should hear stories of their own death, or because Claude’s averted gaze spoke volumes to his honesty. And even if Dimitri asked for it, he’s now left unsure of precisely how he should respond to it.

So that heaviness sits in the air, somehow more oppressive than before. Dimitri debates quietly between asking Claude the other question that’s still resting on the tip of his tongue—or if he should hear out that favor. Which would be better to ask first? He isn’t sure. Is it fair of him to even ask the question that he’s thinking of?

Will he be able to honor the request Claude wants to make of him?

After the silence lingers just a touch too long, Dimitri speaks once again, having decided on which order to approach his questions. “The favor you wished to ask of me. I can’t promise that I can comply, but I’ll hear you out.”

He doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Really—if he can do what it is Claude wishes to ask of him, he will. But there seem to be so many factors at play; he hasn’t forgotten the faint sense of desperation in Claude’s tone, after all. He’s not sure what he can do, not when things feel so tenuous. His mind worries of the worst outcomes—that perhaps Claude wishes to not carry out further missions with him here in Askr, That they should keep their distance. It’s not as if Dimitri would blame him, when there is obvious, underlying regret there. It does beg the question of else that lingers on Dimitri’s mind, but perhaps Claude’s request will help answer that question for him.

“You can ignore it, if you really want. It’s not like it’ll affect  _ me  _ all that much, either way,” Barring peace of mind, Claude supposes, but he doesn’t say as much. “But when we’ve concluded our business here in Askr, when you return to Fódlan… you should reach out to me. I mean, the me of your world. I—well,  _ he’ll _ be surprised, but I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you. If not, it may be years before you meet again.”

As if the proverbial knife couldn’t have been dug any deeper into his chest, Claude’s words twist it even further; the ache he feels is palpable, somehow  _ physical _ in how he has to make an effort not to visibly recoil.

“Claude, what,” The words escape Dimitri’s lips, completely unbidden. The question he had been contemplating whether or not to even ask is now being blurted out unceremoniously. “What was I… to you?”

It’s a loaded question, one rife with implications that Claude immediately picks up on. It’s a question that Claude doesn’t know how to answer immediately, despite how his silver tongue often helps him navigate through difficult conversations like this.

What was Dimitri to him? It’s memories that flash through his mind, with no words attached. The faint brush of fingers as they walked through the monastery grounds. The lingering grasp of hands when helping one another up during training sessions. The weight of Dimitri’s head against his shoulder when he dozed off while studying. Clandestine meetings with even more clandestine kisses. The sensation of warmth and acceptance, but the thrill of secrecy due to their stations.

There’s another half to those feelings, though. There’s the shattered feeling of loss. The sinking in the pit of his stomach when Dimitri grew more and more unhinged. The memory of fighting by his side at the start of the war, and the devastation at the rumors that he’d been executed. The relief of learning he was alive all those years later—only to have that torn away unceremoniously, without so much as even a ‘see you later.’ 

So many things had happened, and while Claude would hesitate to say he was ever  _ in love _ , there was no denying that he’d been an infatuated teenager, and those feelings had remained locked somewhere in his heart. He doesn’t know what it could’ve blossomed into, had Dimitri lived… but he supposes, after hearing the situation in the world the Dimitri before him came from, and the churning feeling in his gut—

“Someone I… wanted to see the dawn of a new Fódlan with.” His words are quiet, lined with honesty. In truth, Claude doesn’t know what it means, not entirely. He can’t say if it’s because he wanted to see Dimitri lead a unified Fódlan, necessarily. He doesn’t know if he wanted Dimitri by his side as an ally, a friend, or perhaps as something more intimate. Somewhere beneath it all, he thinks that Dimitri ruling the land and Byleth keeping the post of Archbishop in tandem would’ve undoubtedly made Fódlan better. To see two people he trusts help to ensure his dreams, while Claude himself took on the mantle of leading Almyra. 

...He supposes in the world Dimitri comes from, that’s what happens, at least to some extent. And though he knows better than to live with regret or spend too much time lamenting things he can’t change. It’s why he’s been able to keep his head held high, and why he’s done all he can to keep that very attitude in Askr. In a general sense, he’s okay with the way things have gone—but there’s also no denying that part of him dislikes that he was helpless to save Dimitri from his own reckless demise.

Regardless, what he wanted was always an ending where the people he knew didn’t have to suffer anymore. He wanted Fódlan to be more open in so many ways. To the very end of the war, he did all he could to avoid needless death—yet Dimitri had fallen to the Imperial soldiers, and Edelgard had fallen by Byleth’s hand, despite their pleas to stand down. What it all really means—what twist of strange fates they encountered to be in their current position—Claude’s not sure.

Truth be told, Dimitri isn’t sure, either. Though perhaps in different ways, he isn’t so inclined to believe in miracles or rely on chance. He and Claude both grasped their futures with their own hands, with the help of their comrades—not because of the Church’s teachings or any deities guiding their way. It makes the fact that they can be torn away from the worlds they hail from and thrown together for an even greater cause quite strange.

But perhaps that in itself is a blessing in disguise; at least, Dimitri thinks that may be so.

There is still much left unspoken between them, but the way Claude speaks and the way he looks brings back a lot of memories. Ones that are much the same as Claude’s, even if the outcomes were different in the end. He has a sense of knowing, an innate understanding of Claude’s feelings, even if his thoughts remain shrouded. He can’t be sure if their memories are the same.

He believes they are, though.

That’s why Dimitri decides to do something he may not have otherwise. He moves. Rather than remaining across from Claude, rather than leaving to start patrols, he takes a seat to the left of Claude, in the spot where Sharena had been sitting earlier in the night. Or perhaps—perhaps just a little closer.

“I… hope you don’t find this inappropriate,” Dimitri states quietly, almost  _ awkwardly _ . It must look strange to Claude, for him to suddenly want to be closer. It’s where he wants to be right now; it’s the place that feels like where he belongs. 

“Only if you’re going to keep edging closer without even giving me a response to my favor.”

Claude offers a cheeky smile, though Dimitri sees through his farce and steels himself to ask another question. “If I honor your request, what do you believe will happen? You—the you who lives on in my world—have you any expectations?”

“Like I said, he’ll be happy to see you,” Claude reiterates, though he knows that answer isn’t enough. “I can’t be sure, but if we share memories of a certain period of time… then I suppose there’s one way to look at it. When we were students, there was a roaring flame. It burned big and bright, brighter than he’d have ever guessed. As time passed, the clouds rolled in, the rain doing it’s damnedest to stomp out the flames until winter’s arrival. Even with the rain, the cold, the snow—that flame never truly died. It had burned so intensely that despite how much it dimmed, it never gave out. And now, the flame is still holding on, waiting for that spark to reignite the blaze.”

Claude’s gaze remains fixed on the campfire, as if looking at it will somehow add more validity to his metaphor. Not that he needs it—not when Dimitri understands it all too well. Their feelings had been strong, and Claude’s never faded. If Dimitri pursues him, then perhaps that fire can be rekindled. Perhaps the Claude in his own world can attain a certain kind of happiness.

...A happiness, he realizes, that the Claude sitting next to him has no chance of chasing once they leave Askr. All of the pieces start to click, and Dimitri suddenly feels a pang of regret for a situation, for memories he doesn’t even possess. 

When he speaks again, Dimitri is quieter, more subdued. “And what of your own flame?”

Claude’s head snaps, looking in Dimitri’s direction with eyes widened in surprise. Somehow, he didn’t expect that Dimitri would question his feelings that way. Somehow, he thought he could evade addressing it, that maybe his favor would be enough. It’s not, though. Dimitri’s never really been one to ignore another’s feelings to that extent. Especially not Claude’s. Honest and empathetic to a fault—perhaps he’d forced himself to forget that in the time since Dimitri’s passing.

“You could say those flames have been doused and reduced to embers. Everything I’ve got is for the betterment of Fódlan and Almyra, for a better future.”

It’s heartbreaking. Dimitri can feel it, how palpable that loneliness is. He knows that Claude is strong. He’s cunning and resilient, and that he’ll likely find love again one day. He hopes for it, that he won’t live a life in solitude, devoted only to his politics because of one fallen prince who couldn’t get his act together. One prince who only lived long enough to become king thanks to the people who ensured he would live on, those who recklessly risked their lives to save his own. Things… that he didn’t have in the world where Claude hails from. And maybe that’s exactly why he feels he owes it to Claude. To make it up to him, at least for a while.

He reaches out, grasping for Claude’s hand. He’s careful with his own strength, and though it’s clumsy—it’s gentle, how he threads their fingers together. “Would it be cruel of me to rekindle that flame? Even… if just to give it a chance to burn to ash on its own terms?”

“It would,” Claude says, but the way his hand grips Dimitri’s seems to tell a different story entirely. He knows, he understands. It’s incredibly cruel, because they both know how fleeting it is. How when their business concludes, there is no future for this flame. All the same, it’s an act of compassion, a chance for Claude to get the closure he wasn’t afforded back in Fódlan. “But even if something is unbearably cruel, I suppose I can’t deny that this flame could use a little fuel. Burning brightly before falling to ash might not be so bad.”

“I’ll keep my word, then. Both to rekindle this flame so long as we’re here in Askr—and to seek you out upon my return to Fódlan.”

Upon hearing those words, Claude shifts slightly, and in doing so, finds himself leaning against Dimitri’s solid frame. With their fingers laced, there’s a warmth he feels spreading through him that he hasn’t experienced since they were students. It’s not just a flame, it’s a veritable conflagration.

One that will never truly burn out, though at least he now knows that when the fires stop raging, they’ll be steady flames, a constant heat that keeps his heart warm even though Dimitri won’t be there to see things through. He may return to Fódlan alone, but knowing that there’s a promise that will be kept in another Fódlan, in another time—one that can ensure the sparks never die out—for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since the last CYL event, I've been thinking about the sheer potential of UNREQUITED ROMANCE and how they each would have to deal with the differences in their timelines and memories of one another. Also, like. Sad Claudes, because we love a man who is allowed to have a full range of emotions! SO. I just went and did the thing for the sake of both my brainworms and also the fact that these two have rotted my brain into absolute mush!


End file.
